


Burdens of Tranquility

by tstansetis



Series: Aedan Trevelyan [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Rite of Tranquility, Samson Negative, Tranquil Inquisitor, Tranquility cure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:14:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7030411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tstansetis/pseuds/tstansetis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Empty,” the word slipped past Cole's lips, sending chills down Varric’s spine - and from the looks of it, everyone else’s too, “Empty, dark, cold, nothing. Not sad, no pain, but not happy, either. Not anything, it’s gone, he’s...gone…”</i>
</p><p>The Inquisitor is captured by a group of Red Templars in Crestwood. When he's found, the sight that his companions are greeted with is worse than any that they could imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burdens of Tranquility

**Author's Note:**

> I've been getting a lot of comments on things I've written about my Inquisitor, and I'm really excited that everyone seems to like him so much! This fic's been in the making for quite some time - there's going to be more added to it, as the inspiration strikes me, because I've got a lot of thoughts based on what people say about tranquil mages in Inquisition.
> 
> Aedan Trevelyan is my Mage Inquisitor, I love him dearly but I do bad things to him. This fic can stand alone, but I've written several drabbles about him, as well. This particular piece focuses more on Cullen than Aedan himself, I've realized...he got a little bit away from me.
> 
> I would also like to apologize to anyone who likes Samson as more than a villain - this is probably not the story for you.

“We have to  _ find him, _ Dorian!” 

“ _ No _ ,” the Tevinter turned toward Cassandra, his eyes widening a bit in faux surprise, “I was going to suggest we simply  _ leave him _ out here somewhere.”

“Now is not the time for jokes!”

The Iron Bull let out a weary sigh, shaking his horned head and scowling as the Seeker and the mage continued to bicker. The rain was coming down harder than it had their entire stay in this damned village, the Inquisitor was fucking  _ missing _ , and Bull had had just about enough.

“Alright, you two,” the Qunari turned, feeling a bit satisfied when Dorian - who had forgone paying attention to where he was going in favor of arguing with Cassandra - ran straight into him, nearly falling backward, “that’s  _ enough _ . Finding the Inquisitor is priority one, right now. So unless you have  _ ideas _ on how to do that  _ faster _ ,” Bull narrowed his eyes, “Zip it.”

Dorian frowned at him, opening his mouth to retort, and Iron Bull raised one brow, almost daring the mage to argue. 

He didnt. Instead, he turned his head away, lip jutting out in what could only be described as a pout.

Satisfied, the Qunari nodded, turning back and striding down the path.

The mage made a face at his broad back before huffing and following, annoyance clear in the set of his jaw. Beside him, Varric let out a soft chuckle. 

“Look, Sparkles,” the dwarf crossed his arms as they walked, “I know, you’re as worried as the rest of us. Antagonizing the Seeker isn’t gonna help you be any  _ less _ worried. We’ll find Aedan. I’m sure he’s already taken down whoever had the nerve to grab him.”

“You sound awfully certain, Varric,” Dorian chuckled weakly, his own tone dripping with doubt.

“Of course I do. Someone has to.” 

“That is so  _ very  _ reassuring.”

“Varric is great at reassuring people through eloquent bullshitting!” Hawke chimed in with a laugh. The dwarf sighed and shook his head.

“Maker take you, Hawke, you’re going to ruin my sterling reputation.”

The Champion of Kirkwall opened his mouth, but whatever witty comeback he’d prepared died on his tongue when he caught sight of Cole, who stood stone still, staring straight ahead, his grey eyes wide beneath the oversized rim of his hat. His pale lips were slightly parted, a grim mask of horror on his face.

“...is your friend okay?” Hawke asked, furrowing his brow.

Varric turned, blinking in surprise at the sight.

“Whoa, Kid,” the dwarf stepped closer to Cole, “What’s up? Talk to us.”

“Empty,” the word slipped past the boy’s lips, sending chills down Varric’s spine - and from the looks of it, everyone else’s too, “Empty, dark, cold, nothing. Not sad, no pain, but not happy, either. Not anything, it’s gone, he’s...gone…”

Cassandra stormed forward, scowling, “What is he going on about!? Varric, make him explain!”

“Calm down, Seeker-”

“I will  _ not! _ ” the woman shouted, “Not until he-”

Cole pointed, then, his arm straight ahead. “There.”

They turned, as one, in the direction Cole was pointing. A lone figure sat on a boulder nearby, facing away from the path, his back straight and shoulders squared, his robes and hair soaked and dripping from the downpour. The figure was the very picture of peaceful, sitting still, serene.

Cassandra let out a relieved little breath, and Varric laughed as she, Dorian, and Bull rushed over to the figure, three separate cries of “Inquisitor!” bouncing off the rocky slopes nearby.

“Good job, Kid!” he reached up, clapping Cole on the back, but frowned when the boy’s face paled further.

“No,” he shook his head, droplets falling from the rim of his hat, “No, it’s...wrong.”

Dorian reached Aedan first, and Varric felt his heart sink as he watched the mage’s smile freeze, then fall. He sucked in a horrified gasp, covering his mouth with one hand and taking a step back, his eyes wide as he began shaking his head. Cassandra was next - she too, recoiled, her face paling. 

“Sweet Maker…” 

_ Shit _ .

Varric rushed over, icy dread in his veins as he reached Aedan - who still hadn’t moved, save to tip his head up to look at Dorian and Cassandra. The dwarf rounded the rock and froze as he looked up.

The golden sunburst on the Inquisitor’s forehead stood out like a beacon, his auburn hair carelessly chopped away, hanging in uneven pieces to show it clearly. Aedan’s head tipped a bit to the side as he searched the faces of his friends, expressionless.

“No…”

**_Shit._ **

Varric tore his gaze away from the brand as Dorian took a hesitant step forward, swallowing thickly.

“Aedan?” Dorian’s typically silky voice wavered, uncertain and upset. The Inquisitor looked at him, his stare blank. 

“Yes, Dorian?” The deadness in his voice made Varric cringe, made Dorian’s stomach churn as Cassandra covered her mouth and turned away, her eyes closed tightly.

“What...what happened to you?” 

“The Red Templars captured me after we left the cave. They took me to Samson. He performed the Rite of Tranquility on me. They then brought me here, and told me to wait for the Inquisition to find me.”

“...do you...feel...anything?” Dorian asked hesitantly.

“I am cold, and wet. But I am unharmed.” Aedan’s lips quirked up a bit at the edges, but the attempt at a smile didn’t reach his eyes, and Varric felt his skin crawl.

Hawke shifted uncomfortably beside him.

“Andraste’s ass,” Garrett shook his head, pity obvious in the mage’s eyes, “What do we do, now?” he asked. Varric shook his head uncertainly. 

“I...I dunno, Hawke. I really don’t know.”

 

~~

 

Cullen’s eyes were wide as he pushed past the soldiers on the stairs, panic gripping his chest. He had to get to the gates. Had to find Aedan…

Had to know for sure that what Leliana’s spies were saying  _ wasn’t true. _ It  _ couldn’t  _ be. It just couldn’t.

Not Aedan.

He approached the group near the gates from behind. Cassandra spotted him first, her face grim.

“Cullen,” the warrior shook her head, looking ill, “you shouldn’t…”

“Where is he?” Cullen’s voice came out shakier than he would’ve liked it to, betraying his nerves. He stepped closer, trying to push past Iron Bull and Dorian, “Let me see him.”

Cassandra sighed softly, then nodded at the qunari and the mage. Reluctantly, the two stepped aside to allow Cullen to pass.

His heart nearly stopped.

There stood Aedan - sweet, sweet Aedan, all love and smiles and healing hands - a deadness in his eyes, the mark on his forehead turning Cullen’s blood cold. His steps faltered as he moved closer, fingers trembling a bit, reaching out to his lover with worry and fear clouding his mind.

“...Aedan?” he whispered in disbelief, “Oh, love…”

The Inquisitor looked up at Cullen and blinked once, his expression never changing.

“Yes, Commander Cullen?”

The unfeeling tone of his voice made the ex-templar’s stomach lurch. No.  _ No. _

“You...Maker’s Breath, love,” he choked out, “who did this to you?”

“If you are referring to the Rite of Tranquility,” the Inquisitor inclined his head slightly to the left, “it was Samson, the Red Templars’ Commander.”

Cullen clenched his teeth.

Samson.  _ Fucking Samson. _

“He had  _ no  _ right-”

“He said that, as a Templar,” Aedan’s too-dead voice droned, “it is his right to perform the Rite on any mage he sees fit-”

“ _ Not  _ anymore,” he hissed, grabbing Aedan by the shoulders and looking him up and down, boiling rage melding with sadness as he took in the mage’s disheveled appearance. The Inquisitor hung limply in his grip, neither fighting it nor leaning into it.”...not you.” His voice was little more than a whisper, this time. Gently, he cupped Aedan’s cheek, fingers traveling up into the hastily chopped-away remains of his auburn bangs, “Maker’s breath, he cut your hair?”

“To show the brand,” Aedan stared at him blankly as he spoke, his hollow eyes making Cullen’s heart feel close to breaking, “Samson wanted the Inquisition to see me as the mage that i am. I believe he was expecting gratitude from all of you for taking away my magic.”

“That sick  _ bastard _ ,” Cullen’s blood boiled, “I will  _ end him _ .” 

The ex-Templar released his lover, clenching his fists and moving to storm toward the gates. A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he whirled, intent on screaming to be released immediately so that he could march the entirety of the Inquisition’s army toward the Red Templar hideaway and deal with Samson.

“Cullen…” Cassandra shook her head, letting go of his arm when she was sure he wouldn’t rush toward the gates, “they’ve already fled Crestwood. Leliana’s spies are pursuing them, but…”

Cullen hissed through his teeth, turning his head to glare at the ground, “But they got a head start, didn’t they?”

“Yes-”

“How did this happen?” Cullen’s voice was terrifyingly calm, his eyes raising to meet those of the Inquisitor’s followers. Dorian, Bull, Cassandra, and Varric all exchanged uncomfortable looks under the man’s harsh stare.  
“Curly, it was an ambush,” Varric tried, stepping closer to Cullen, “there were people _everywhere_ , we tried our best, but when everything cleared, he was gone.”

“Then your  _ best  _ wasn’t  _ good enough _ , Varric!” the ex-Templar hissed, gesturing toward Aedan, “Look at where your  _ best _ got us!”

Dorian frowned, “Commander, I realize that you are upset, but you cannot blame  _ us _ for-”

“Your  _ job _ ,” the man whirled on the mage, stepping closer menacingly, “was to  _ protect  _ him.”

“So was yours.” Dorian stood firm, bristling while boldly meeting Cullen’s glare, “We  _ all _ failed him,  _ Commander _ , the blame does not lie solely on us.”

They stared each other down for what seemed like hours before Cullen’s shoulders slumped in defeat. The larger man brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, letting out a weary sigh before looking over at Aedan, a pained expression on his face.

“...you’re right, Dorian,” he managed, “forgive me, I…”

The mage held up a hand and shook his head, following Cullen’s gaze, “we are all strained. But Maker help you if you ever speak to me that way again.” The light barb fell flat, even to his own ears, and he sighed, defeated.

Carefully, Cullen approached Aedan again. His lover stood still, observing him blankly, and Cullen couldn’t breathe. He swallowed, reaching out to take the Inquisitor’s marked hand in both of his own. His fingers were limp in Cullen’s grasp, delicate and thin, callouses fresh from the few months he’d spent outside the Circle thus far, properly wielding his staff. 

“Aedan…” he whispered his lover’s name, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. The Inquisitor cocked his head slightly to one side, blinking at him blankly.

“Yes, Cullen?” 

The Commander felt himself flinch at the way that Aedan said his name - cold, calculating. It wasn’t like him, not at all. Reluctantly, he took a deep breath, trying to ground himself enough to speak.

“I swear to you,” he finally said, meeting Aedan’s unfeeling expression, “I will fix this. Somehow.”

“So it is true,” came a soft, measured voice from the foot of the stairs. Cullen turned, his brow furrowing as Leliana came closer, her eyes dark with something he couldn’t quite place as they roamed over Aedan’s blank expression, finally stopping on the brand that stood out on his forehead, “quickly, let us get him inside - to the war room. We’ve cleared the main hall for now, so we shouldn’t run into any of the visiting dignitaries.”

The Commander looked startled, then his brow furrowed, anger clear in his eyes, “ _ That’s _ what you’re-”

“Cullen. Not here.” Leliana shook her head, motioning to be followed. Cullen’s eyes narrowed at the passive expression on their Spymaster’s face, but one look from Cassandra silenced any protest he would have thought to voice aloud. Instead, still holding Aedan’s hand, he led the mage up the steps toward the throne room, discomfort churning in his gut. 

Josephine was already waiting for them in the War Room, the color draining from her complexion the moment she spotted Aedan. The Ambassador seemed rooted to the floor, shaking her head, her eyes glued to the brand.

“Andraste preserve us,” she whispered, horror obvious on her face.

Aedan said nothing. He merely looked between the advisors, unphased by the collective upset in the room. Cullen swallowed, forcing himself to look away from his lover, and directed his frustration toward Leliana, instead.

“What is this, exactly?” he asked, “There’s little to discuss, here, and I’m sure Aedan would prefer to rest.”

“I do not think he  _ prefers  _ anything,” the woman snapped, and her words hit Cullen like a punch to the gut. Quickly, she backtracked, holding up a hand to prevent Cullen from speaking, the fingers of her other hand moving to pinch the bridge of her nose, “I did not mean for that to sound so cruel. But, we do need to discuss what we are going to do about this.”

“Do about-”

“Yes. As in,” Leliana met his gaze, “how are we going to handle it publically? The Inquisitor, made tranquil? The members of the Inquisition will lose their faith in us almost immediately.”

Josephine nodded her head, still unable to tear her gaze away from the brand on the Inquisitor’s forehead.

“Leliana is right,” she said hesitantly, trying to ignore the scathing glare that Cullen shot her, “If the people knew of this...if word reached Orlais or Ferelden, the Inquisition would be doomed to failure.”

Cullen looked between them, disbelieving.

“Aedan - th-the Inquisitor has just been…” Mutilated? Destroyed? Taken away from them, in every sense of the phrase? “and you’re concerned with how the  _ public _ will take it?”

“As terrible as it is, Commander,” Leliana looked at him, and he could see a deep sadness in her eyes as she spoke, “there is nothing that we can do to repair it. The only thing that we can do, now, is focus on keeping the Inquisition stable.”

Cullen looked over his shoulder at the mage, sadness washing over him at the sight of his lover, who stood off to the side with that still painfully neutral expression. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he turned again, meeting Leliana’s gaze.

“Can’t...we try? There has to be something…” he sighed, already knowing the answer - there was nothing to be done. The Rite was irreversible, made for mages who couldn’t control their power. Not for this. Not for...

_ Not for Aedan. _

“Cullen-” the Spymaster’s eyes held pity, now, and Cullen would have none of it - not for himself. 

He shook his head, his lips pressed together in a thin line for a moment before he spoke, “No, you are...you are right,” as much as he hated to admit it, “there is...nothing that we can do.”

Josephine bit her lip, and Cullen swore he could see tears beginning to fill her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away, taking a deep breath.

“Then,” the Ambassador squared her shoulders,finally tearing her eyes away from the sunburst brand to look at Leliana, “we will keep it a secret, for now. The dignitaries will wish to meet with the Inquisitor - we will have to have someone to meet with them, in his stead.”

“...have Varric do it,” Leliana decided after a moment’s thought, “he will be able to come up with the most believable excuse for the Inquisitor’s absence, and it will buy us time to think of a more permanent solution.”

“Meanwhile, we should keep the Inquisitor here, at Skyhold. We aren’t certain if he will still be able to close the rifts, and it is better to keep him here, safe, than it would be to send him out, uncertain,” Josie looked between Cullen and Leliana, who nodded in agreement. 

The advisors were silent for a moment, as though waiting for the Inquisitor’s input on the matter. Cullen’s heart broke when none came.

 

~~

 

The Tranquil in the Circles of both Ferelden and Kirkwall had always unnerved Cullen, to some extent. They were distant, cold, and apathetic, but they seemed to understand that they were off-putting, and occasionally attempted to smile with that same dead expression in their eyes - which only served to make them  _ more  _ off-putting, in the Templar’s opinion. 

Aedan, though...it was unimaginably more difficult, seeing him that way. Someone who had been so full of life, and love, and joy...a mage who had, until the Inquisition, used his magic only to heal, never to harm - and even now, only to harm those who would do  _ him  _ harm - reduced to an empty shell of himself...it was unfair, at best - cruel, at worst. He seemed aware that it was causing Cullen distress, and while the love he’d held for the Commander no longer registered, it appeared that he was trying to alleviate some of that upset - that he was aware that he was the cause.

Often, it would be simple things, as though he were trying to recreate his own actions - the things he clearly remembered from their time together. Aedan would bring Cullen tea, to help with his headaches, would offer to assist him with paperwork, ask if the Commander would like to play a game of chess - the smallest remnants of what they had been before, the littlest details of their once shared love. Cullen had tried sharing those moments with him again, tried just spending  _ time _ with the Inquisitor, but the emotions, the care that Aedan had been showing in those moments, before...it was gone, now, replaced with cold calculation, the idea that these things were what he was supposed to do. Part of his routine. 

Cullen couldn’t handle it.

He’d taken to hiding away in his office during the day, too distraught to look the Inquisitor in the eyes - he couldn’t stand seeing his lover this way. He rarely ate or slept. During training, he pushed his men past their breaking points - pushed  _ himself _ past his breaking point, as though to somehow atone for his mistake. Despite what he’d said to Dorian and the others in the courtyard, he blamed himself, entirely, for what had happened.  _ His _ soldiers had surveyed Crestwood, on  _ his _ orders, he hadn’t sent enough of them to keep Aedan safe, and now the Inquisitor - the love of his life, his  _ everything  _ \- was lost to him forever.

So far as he could tell, the members of Aedan’s inner circle had also sequestered themselves. Dorian had immediately made for the kitchens to find the strongest bottle of wine that he could get his hands on. Iron Bull, Varric, and Hawke had a similar plan, apparently - they’d practically lived in the tavern, lately, tankards always full, sitting with the Chargers and dealing with things in their own way. The spirit...demon...Cole, had vanished, apparently - no one could recall seeing him in weeks, though Cullen was certain that he wasn’t gone, because the oddities around Skyhold were occurring with much more frequency, now. When the others had been told, they’d each reacted in their own ways - Sera had vehemently denied it, insisted that it simply wasn’t possible, refused to see Aedan until things were ‘back to normal again.’ Solas, strangely silent, had simply retreated to his room with his paints. Blackwall’s reaction had been hard to read, as well, but he’d gone to sit with the Inquisitor in the garden several times - he was making an effort for normalcy. Vivienne’s mask of uncaring had been impressive, but despite how little she and Aedan agreed on, even she had held a sadness in her eyes.  Cassandra, in particular, he’d seen very little of, as of late - she’d holed herself up in her loft and buried her nose in the book that Aedan had helped her acquire, and had Cullen not been so wrapped up in his own distress, he would have been concerned for the woman. She’d been there, after all, and she and Aedan had grown close since the Inquisition began.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leaned back in his chair, eyes bleary from staring too hard at ink on paper for much too long. His days passed so slowly, now.

The sound of the wooden door cracking against a stone wall startled Cullen out of his frustrated thoughts, and he nearly fell out of his chair as, as if on cue, Cassandra came charging in with her Seeker’s book in tow. Dropping the heavy volume on his desk, she put her hands on her hips, a triumphant smirk on her face that only barely distracted from the dark circles beneath her eyes - she clearly hadn’t slept in days. Cullen’s gaze flitted from her face to the book, and back again, uncertain of exactly what was happening.

“...Cassandra?”

“There  _ is _ a cure!” the woman seemed so elated she that she might burst. Cullen hadn’t seen anyone so pleased since the brand had been placed on Aedan. He blinked at her, not quite following what she was saying.

“Cassandra, what are you-”

“A  _ cure _ , Cullen! We can  _ fix _ this - we can fix  _ him! _ ” 

The Commander stared, because that absolutely, positively was not possible.

“...what?”

“The Seekers,” she placed her palm down on the book, leaning in, her eyes shining, “the Seekers had a cure all along, Cullen. The Seekers introduced the Rite to the Chantry, after they found out that it cut Mages off from the Fade - and there is a way to reverse it!”

Cullen stood, his chair clattering to the floor behind him, palms braced on the desk as he dared against all odds to hope that it was true, that Aedan could be saved from this.

“How?”

She took Cullen’s wrist in one hand, grabbing the book with the other, “Come, we must meet with Leliana and Josephine. And the Champion. We will likely need his help.”

The Commander followed her, quickly and without further question, to the War Room, a thousand thoughts blurring together in his mind all at once, his head swimming with the possibility of something he’d given up hope for. 

Josephine, Leliana, and Hawke all stood around the table when they arrived, looking puzzled as an unusually excited Seeker dragged their Commander in by his arm and proceeded to slam the book down on the War Table, opening it to a marked page and shoving it forward. Josephine let out a sound of protest as the markers scattered across the map, some falling to the floor, but Leliana raised an eyebrow, leaning over to scan the tattered pages, even as questions began pouring from Josephine’s lips. As she read, her blue eyes widened, shock visible in the slight part of her lips.  
“Andraste,” the Spymaster breathed. She blinked rapidly, looking up from the book, her gaze darting from Cullen to Cassandra, “where on earth did you get this?”

“When the Inquisitor helped me to locate the missing Seekers at Caer Oswin. Lord Seeker Lucius had this book, gave it to me to uncover the secrets of the first Inquisition.” Cassandra looked between those assembled, taking a breath and leaning back a bit before explaining, “In order to become a Seeker, one must go through a vigil that...apparently...makes you Tranquil.” She made a face, and Cullen saw the realization in her eyes before she shook her head to continue, “When the Vigil is over, a Spirit of Faith is summoned to...touch the mind of the Seeker. If the Vigil was successful, the Tranquility will be cured, and the Seeker’s emotions will be restored.” Josephine gasped softly, and Hawke shifted, his eyes widening in surprise, but remained oddly quiet, even as Cullen gaped at Cassandra.

“A...a spirit?” Josephine asked after a moment, blinking rapidly, “What about Cole? Didn’t Solas say that he was-”

“He is not...enough,” Cassandra said carefully, “the Inquisitor said that the amulet that we found for him would not work, simply because he is too human. I would imagine that the same principle applies, here.”

Leliana nodded in agreement, “she is right.”

“Where are we going to find a fade spirit, then?” Cullen rubbed his temples, visibly frustrated, his head pounding with it’s ever-persistent ache, “it isn’t as though we can simply come across them.”

The three of them bickered for a bit, suggesting various options - Solas, but they couldn’t be sure that the elf could bring a spirit across the Fade; the rebel mages from Redcliffe, but none of them would have the expertise required, and they preferred to keep as many people out of this as possible - not to mention, the risk of demons. It seemed that, though the solution had presented itself in ink on paper, they had no way of reaching it, and Cullen felt disheartened anew - he had dared to catch a thin thread of hope, only to have it snatched away from him again.

“Actually…” Everyone in the room turned to Hawke as he spoke up for the first time since they’d assembled, the large mage stepping forward with a sheepish smile that seemed odd on his bearded, normally confident face, “I...may have a solution.”

“Spit it out, then, man,” Cullen’s voice came out strained, desperate, and he straightened his stance. He would take any suggestion, risk anything in order to bring his lover back, “please.”

Hawke appeared to hesitate, and Cullen stepped closer to him, his eyes pleading as he met the man’s gaze. After a moment, the mage sighed, nodding and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I...know someone. A man, who has...befriended...a spirit.” Hawke puffed out a sigh, “If any fade spirit could see the injustice in the Inquisitor - or, /anyone/,” he emphasized, “being made Tranquil, it would be him. And he would be very eager to help.”

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra breathed, relief clear in the way that her face fell, “Champion, you must contact this friend of yours quickly, we mustn’t waste any time-” she blinked in surprise when Hawke held up one finger.

“I will, I swear it. But...I need to ask something, first.” 

Cullen would’ve thought that that was reasonable - if the man didn’t look so blighted uncomfortable the whole time he was talking. The Commander narrowed his eyes a bit, giving Hawke a once-over. Years of training, and of active duty as a Templar, had honed Cullen’s ability to tell when someone was not being entirely forthcoming. He stepped a little closer, suspicious.

“...what is it?” he asked, “You know that I’ll pay any price-”

The Champion held up both hands, waving them frantically as he shook his head, “no, no, I don’t want any money, and neither will he. I just…” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before sighing softly, “He’s...very dear to me. And I can’t bear the thought of losing him. I need to know that you won’t hurt him.”

“Hurt him?” the Commander looked baffled, even as Hawke nodded grimly, turning his head to look away from the group.

“He’s...made a few mistakes. Very...grave mistakes. He’s on the run,” his gaze moved back toward Cassandra and Cullen. The man’s gaze was piercing, intense as he spoke, and the burly mage squared his shoulders with a furrowed brow, “The both of you have to give me your word that no harm will come to him.”

Cassandra’s gaze met Cullen’s, suspicion in her eyes and reluctance in the set of her jaw, but she remained silent - the decision was Cullen’s to make, and he couldn’t help but feel a rush of gratitude toward the woman. Turning back to Hawke, he nodded solemnly. 

“Then, you have it. Send for him.”

  
  


~~

 

“ _ You! _ ” Cullen seethed, spitting venom that dripped from the word, his lip curling up into a snarl. His hand fell to the handle of his sword, red hazing into the edges of his vision as he took a menacing step forward. 

The man who had well earned his heated anger gasped and jumped away, ducking to hide behind the Champion of Kirkwall, and though his amber eyes never left Cullen’s, his stubbled jaw set in determination, his feather-laden shoulders trembled with an honest fear that Cullen could almost  _ feel _ , but he didn’t  _ care, _ because the things this blighted mage had done - 

Hawke scowled, holding an arm out to shield the mage behind him and leveling his gaze at Cullen.

“You gave your word, Commander.”

Cullen froze, rage still boiling in his chest as his gaze flickered from Hawke to the mage behind him, then back again, his breathing quick.

“... _ This  _ is who you’ve brought to help him!?” the boom of his voice echoing off the stone walls of the courtyard surprised even him, and he winced as the Champion’s eyes narrowed. Clearing his throat, Cullen took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he worked to control his temper, “...I...apologize for my outburst,” he hissed, “but surely you can see-”

“I  _ can _ ,” Hawke ground out the words, obviously mistrustful, rethinking his decision, “but you gave me your  _ word, _ and he can  _ help _ , if you’ll just let him.”

The mage in question nodded frantically, poking his head out from behind Garrett with a desperate expression, “I can! I-I  _ want  _ to, I…” he swallowed,his face turning somber, “he was a friend, back in Ferelden.One of the few that I had in the Circle. If I can help him... _ save _ him, from this…” amber eyes were serious as the man looked up, his golden hair rustled by the breeze, “I will. Whatever it takes.”

Cullen wanted to be angry. Wanted to go back on his word and find another way to help Aedan, if he had to, because this  _ damned _ mage had destroyed  _ everything _ …

But Anders was the only hope they had, and he couldn’t. Couldn’t risk losing Aedan forever because of his own anger, his own refusal to let go of the past. The mage seemed honest in his desperation, and Cullen glared at him one final time before crossing his arms. Against his better judgment, he clenched his jaw and gave a curt nod.

“...fine,” he ground out, “but if you try _ anything _ -”

“I swear.” Anders held up a hand, placing the other over his chest, his eyes sparkling earnestly. “I only want to help.” 

Reluctant as he was, Cullen couldn’t turn away any offer of help - not if it gave him a chance to see his lover returned to himself.

“He is...in his quarters,” Cullen sighed, motioning for the two mages to follow him, “This way.”

Cullen couldn’t recall ever seeing Garrett Hawke look more relieved in his life. 

To his credit, Anders did a rather remarkable job of not attracting attention to himself as they made their way through Skyhold. In fact, he seemed to try to shrink away from any passersby, to avoid the eyes of anyone near. As they reached the door that led to Aedan’s quarters, the mage appeared to breathe easier, and Cullen allowed him a moment before opening the door.

The Inquisitor sat at his desk as Cullen reached the top of the staircase, his eyes roaming blankly over letters from dignitaries and mission reports. The Commander cleared his throat, and Aedan looked up.

“Cullen,” he greeted the man with another vague attempt at a smile that made Cullen’s skin crawl uncomfortably, “I was not expecting you.” His gaze moved past the large man, taking in the two mages behind him, “Champion. And...Anders? I was not aware that you were here.”

Anders stepped forward, closer to the Inquisitor, and reached out to touch the other mage’s shoulders, his amber eyes wide and sad, voice thick with emotion, “Oh...Maker, Aedan...what have they done to you?” They had been close, at one point; Cullen could hear the despair in Anders’ voice, the mourning that spoke of knowing just how wonderful the Inquisitor had truly been. The man took a breath, bracing himself as though he had to physically hold something in, before turning back to Cullen with a determined set to his jaw. The Commander swore he saw something different in the mage’s eyes - something blue - but just as suddenly as it appeared, it vanished, and Cullen couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t lack of sleep playing tricks on him. 

“We’re ready.”

He thought about asking who the mage was referring to, but decided against it - the less he knew of this particular mage, the better, in his opinion. Instead, he turned to his lover, whose once-sparkling crystal eyes assessed the situation with no reaction. The warrior moved toward him, taking both of Aedan’s delicate hands in his own.

“Love,” he murmured, “did Leliana or Josephine tell you what we’re doing?”

“I have heard you all speaking of it. You are trying to reverse my state of Tranquility.” Aedan stared up at Cullen, expressionless, and Cullen nearly choked on the guilt that rose up in his throat. Of course Aedan knew - he’d been in the war room, they’d discussed it in front of him. They’d all forgotten his presence, from time to time - Maker, he was just so quiet now. “It is an interesting idea. Cassandra has told me what it will entail. I would like to see it work.”

Cullen’s heart stuttered, his eyes widening,  _ hopeful _ as his grip on his lover’s hand tightened slightly, “...you would?”

“I would. My condition is causing several people unnecessary amounts of stress. And, I would like to return to retrieving my own herbs.” The Commander thought that that was a strange thing for the Inquisitor to focus on, but apparently, Anders understood. The mage forced out a chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest and nodding.

“Don’t worry, Aedan,” he reassured, his smile sad and tired, “you’ll be out picking herbs again in no time. I’m going to make sure of it.”

Looking over at Anders, at the genuine, earnest desire to help in his face, Cullen couldn’t stop himself from thinking that, maybe, the mage could begin to redeem himself with this. He only hoped that Cassandra would feel the same way.

She did not.

“I am going to  _ kill  _ Varric.”

Cassandra was positively  _ seething _ , her eyes narrowed and teeth bared in a scowl at the feather-laden mage who had entered the war room with them. Anders, once again, shrank behind Hawke’s bulkier frame, looking a tad more frightened than he had when Cullen was raging at him, and honestly, Cullen couldn’t blame him. Seeker Cassandra was a fearsome woman, even more so when she was angry.

Garrett, however, faced her unblinking, one brow raised, “Varric didn’t know where he was. If you’re going to kill anyone for hiding him, it’ll have to be me, Seeker. But I’d suggest waiting until  _ after  _ he fixes the last great hope of Thedas, wouldn’t you?”

The two stared at each other for a long moment, neither willing to back down, and for a moment, Cullen was certain that they would come to blows - Maker, he certainly didn’t want to get in the middle of  _ that _ \- but finally, the Seeker conceded, her nose still wrinkled in disgust.

“For the Inquisitor’s sake,” she all but growled, “we will do what we must.”

“Good,” Hawke squared his broad shoulders, “what does he have to do?”

The woman shot Anders one last glare before laying the book on the war table. She flipped it open, scanning the pages until she found what she needed, and then slid it across the wood, crossing her arms over her chest. Tentatively, Anders stepped out from behind Hawke, thin, trembling fingers cautiously skimming the worn parchment before him and squinting at the words, nodding along as he read.

Cullen stood beside Aedan, longing to hold him close, to comfort him - logically, he knew that his lover felt no fear of what was to come, but Cullen himself certainly did. He feared for Aedan’s mind, for his safety at the hands of this mage. Most of all, he feared for the possibility of failure. If Aedan were lost to him now, after everything they’d been through…

Maker preserve him, he didn’t think his heart could take it.

“...alright,” Anders murmured into the quiet of the room, “I...think that I’ve thought of something. It’s...experimental, sort of, but I can’t imagine that this sort of thing has ever been attempted with these circumstances. So…”

“Can you not simply call to your friend?” Cassandra placed her hand on the table, “get him to come and help us?”

“Justice  _ is _ going to help, it’s just...a little more complicated than just asking him to touch Aedan’s mind. He…” Anders looked up at Hawke, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, as if...afraid. The mage was afraid to tell them something.

“Anders,” Cullen spoke, startling the mage, who turned to look at him with wide, amber eyes full of doubt, “whatever it is that you’re not telling us....you won’t be harmed, I swear it.” Cassandra made a sound of protest, but Cullen held up a hand, his brow furrowed seriously, “Right now, you are our only hope to save the Inquisitor. You’re our only hope to save the world. So...please. Just...do what you must. Whatever it takes.”

The apostate blinked at him curiously, clearly suspicious of the sudden extension of trust - with reason, Cullen couldn’t deny. After a moment’s thought, however, Anders seemed to accept what he said as the truth. He nodded, and took a breath.

“We’re going to need a lot of empty space,” he said, finally, though he still looked uncertain, “and quite a few lyrium potions.”

“Done.”

Cullen wasn’t entirely sure what he was agreeing to, but it certainly felt better than doing nothing at all.

 

~~

 

They’d decided to use the foundry chamber beneath Skyhold to reverse the Rite - Anders warned that it would likely be bright, and loud, and fewer people would see, should something go awry. The mage seemed concerned that they were beneath the castle itself, but Hawke continued to assure him that the walls had withstood more than what would come next - reassurance that Anders seemed to accept, somewhat reluctantly.

Cullen...was beginning to worry again. 

The Inquisitor sat in a chair in the center of the room, and Anders stood before him, downing a second lyrium potion before holding out the empty bottle, which Hawke took from him without delay. The mage took a deep breath in through his nose, releasing it slowly through barely-parted lips that seemed to quiver to match his trembling fingers, nerves clearly showing. However anxious he was, though, he seemed to have no intention of backing down. Jaw set stubbornly, his eyes glinted with determination.

“I’m going to start now,” he said - speaking to Aedan, Cullen realized, and the man was grateful for that, “if it gets to be too much to handle, make certain you tell me, alright? I don’t want to hurt you. I want to help.”

Aedan nodded, his expression unchanging, “of course, Anders.”

The unfeeling response seemed to solidify something in the healer’s mind. He narrowed his eyes, took another breath…

And the entire chamber exploded into crackling blue light, magic so strong that Cullen could feel it in his very core. He cried out in surprise, forcing his eyes shut - the light was too strong, too much, and  _ Maker _ , he was dizzy from the energy that buzzed in the air and fizzled harmlessly over his skin, made his hair stand on end. The taste of lyrium hung like a shroud, clinging to his tongue and throat, making him sway on his feet. There was a hand steadying him - Hawke, he assumed, from the size of the palm on his shoulder - a voice, asking if he wanted to leave, but Cullen shook his head, stood his ground. He would stay until this was finished, would see his lover returned to himself safely, would be there, if it failed.

When he was able to open his eyes again, they traveled immediately to the brilliant, ethereal blue cracks in Anders’ pale skin, spidering over freckles and scars, and to his eyes, the same shade. 

**_“This injustice shall be corrected,”_ ** Anders’ mouth moved, but the commanding voice that rumbled so loudly it shook the room most certainly did not belong to the mage,  **_“and those who would see this done will suffer for their crimes.”_ **

The creature that seemed to wear the apostate’s crackled skin reached for Aedan, and Cullen felt a surge of protectiveness - his mind screamed danger,  _ abomination,  _ urged him to remove his lover from the situation, but when he tried to bolt forward, Hawke held him firmly in place. The Commander turned, glaring, prepared to accuse and yell, but the Champion shook his head.

“He’s safe, Cullen. Justice is going to help.”

The former templar blinked rapidly, his gaze traveling from Hawke back to the scene unfolding before him. Hands reached for Aedan’s face, thumbs pressing firmly against the brand on his forehead and fingers resting against his temples. The most potent healing magic that Cullen himself had ever witnessed poured from those hands, filling the chamber with a pleasant chill that seeped into Cullen’s bones. Aedan arched in the chair, lips slightly parted and eyes wide open in shock, flashes of blue catching in his eyes, his breath hitching with every pulse of the magic that sank into his skin.

This...was Justice.

But it was Anders, too - spirit and mage, working in tandem, more powerful and  _ good _ than any force that Cullen had ever reckoned with. This wasn’t possession, as templars saw it - this was cooperation. 

Hours seemed to pass as Anders and Justice worked. Cullen fidgeted, he craned his neck to see - as though a slightly different angle would somehow give him vision of things happening in his lover’s mind - but he never once moved from his spot, choosing to root himself there to wait out the long process. Cassandra, too, stood by, watchful and waiting, nervousness pouring off of her in nearly tangible waves. The Seeker had her doubts - they both did. But Cullen couldn’t afford to allow himself to imagine what would happen if this failed. With how long it was taking, the former templar could already feel his faith beginning to waver.

And then, Aedan began to scream.

The wail was enough to drag Cullen forward, stumbling over his own feet as he moved closer to the source of the heady energy. He fell to his knees beside his lover’s chair, grasping at the marked hand and holding tight, his own fingers trembling against Aedan’s, which spasmed and jerked in his grip.

“I’m here, love,” he whispered, giving the delicate hand in his own a gentle squeeze, “I’m here, you’re alright, you’re going to be okay-”

Something in the air  _ snapped _ , and Anders staggered backwards, one hand coming up to grasp at his own head as he tried to steady his breath, knees shaking - shaking all over, really - and Hawke was quickly at his side, steadying him, brushing his hair from his face with a worried furrow to his brow.

The Inquisitor gasped for air as though he’d been drowning, rigid in his seat as he swung his head wildly around, taking in the chamber with wide, frightened eyes, blunt nails clawing at the wood of the chair beneath him. He was terrified.

_ He was terrified. _

Cullen was on his feet, his trembling hands reaching up to cup either side of Aedan’s face gently, guiding his lover’s gaze toward him. He saw the spark of recognition in blue irises, the moment of realization, and he felt himself melt with relief as he gathered his lover into his arms, holding him tightly and petting his hair.

Aedan clung to him like a vice, trembling violently, his fingers curling tightly in the cloth of Cullen’s coat, and buried his face in the crook of the Commander’s neck.

“I’ve got you, love,” Cullen soothed, “I’ve got you.” 

Distantly, Cullen heard Cassandra’s breathed “thank the Maker,” and couldn’t help but echo the sentiment as Aedan began to weep against his shoulder.

 


End file.
